


Heartsick

by sunbean72, Woland



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BAMF Pepper Potts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Tony, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, James Rhodes Is a Good Bro, Justin Hammer is a dick in every verse, M/M, Medical Condition, Pepper Potts Is a Good Bro, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Has A Heart, alternate universe no powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:22:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17833763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunbean72/pseuds/sunbean72, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woland/pseuds/Woland
Summary: James Rhodes is a brilliant heart surgeon, and Tony Stark is a billionaire weapons designer who just happens to be in urgent need of a heart transplant.  Simple, right?Wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

“James Rhodes, my man!” a familiar high-pitched voice draws his attention just as he opens his wardrobe locker, and he barely resists the urge to roll his eyes in annoyance.   _ Justin Hammer _ . Great.  And here he was naively hoping for a pleasant start to his morning…

 

“Dr. Hammer.” Forcibly, he relaxes his shoulders, turning away from the locker to face the lanky slick-haired surgeon that’s striding toward him with a repulsively smarmy smile on his bespectacled face.  Does his best to plaster on, what he hopes is, a civil enough smile in return. “What can I help you with?” 

 

Hammer’s lips stretch out even further, impossibly wide.  He reminds Rhodey of a hyena, laughing tauntingly over its prey.  The comparison disturbs him, sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

 

“Rhodes, Rhodes, Rhodes, my colleague, my brother, my friend,” Hammer flops his scraggy form squarely into his personal space, draping one arm unceremoniously over Rhodey’s shoulder.  It’s all Rhodey can do not to throw him right off. “You have it all wrong. It’s what  _ I  _ can do for  _ you _ .”

 

Rhodey ignores the invitation for further chatter a moment, contemplating. Justin Hammer is an up-and-comer, and though there are plenty of people who don’t like the guy, himself included, he thinks it wise to not antagonize him. “Well?” He asks, sliding his OR scrubs over his head. “What can you do for me, then?”

 

“There’s this patient. Make or break kind of a deal. I’d do it myself, I have the expertise, but the guy is a huge jack ass, doesn’t know talent when it slaps him in the face! I’m tempted to let him die on the table, to be honest, it’d be doing the world a favor. But ‘do no harm’ and all that, so I was thinking about letting you take a crack at it.”

 

“Are we talking thoracic surgery or neurologic?” Rhodey has a rare double specialty, while Hammer’s a general surgeon (exceptionally gifted, according to his own frequent proclamations, though Rhodey suspects he is more well connected than he is capable), so it could go either way.

 

“It’s a complicated heart case, though the patient is mostly a head case.” Hammer laughs at his own joke, grinning at Rhodes’ eye roll. “Look I just want you to know what you’re getting into if you accept the case. You can’t blame me for not warning you, you know?”

 

“You know I’m due for surgery,” Rhodes prompts, tying on his surgical mask. He’s curious despite himself, and he knows he must be giving at least some of that curiosity away, judging from the brief predatory spark he sees in Hammer’s eyes.

 

“Well if you’re interested, I’ll catch you for a consult after. Take a look at his chest CT.”

 

Hammer holds up his phone, images of the CT on it, and Rhodey pauses, unable to believe his eyes. “What am I looking at?”

 

“Exactly what it looks like.”

 

Exactly what it looks like, right, Rhodey thinks.  Because what it looks like is a massive lump of scar tissue surrounding a piece of metal that sits mere centimeters away from the heart enlarged from the stress of the horrific injury.  What it looks like is something out of an old medical textbook with X-rays pictures of soldiers who miraculously managed to survive having pieces of shrapnel in their chest. What it looks like is a picture of a dead man walking.

“How the hell is this guy even still alive?” he blurts out, the shocked question slipping out unbidden. “That heart’s so damaged I’m surprised it’s still beating.” He pulls the phone closer, fascinated by the images.  “He a soldier?”

 

“Soldier, bah!” Hammer’s face folds into an expression of disdainful disgust.  “Stark’s a weapons designer. Merchant of Death, they call him. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?  He did make a career out of blowing soldiers up, though. So, I guess, this is kind of… poetic justice?” He laughs, seeming just a tad too delighted for someone discussing a man’s life-threatening condition.  It leaves an unpleasant taste in Rhodey’s mouth. Even if the subject of their conversation may not be as…  _ virtuous  _ of a person, it’s still no excuse to talk about him like that.

 

“He’s on a transplant list,” Hammer adds, interrupting Rhodey’s train of thought, “but you can see how complicated it would be.”

 

“You’ve done surgery on this guy?” Rhodey asks skeptically. For all Hammer touts his skills, Rhodey has never been particularly impressed with the man’s work. He’d seemed more selective with his cases, keeping them confined to those he was sure to succeed on or those who would bring him prestige. Rhodey knows that it sometimes takes risks to make a good surgeon an excellent one but Hammer has always struck him as someone who has too big of an ego to take on more complicated patients.

 

“Well, yeah! Saved his life!” Hammer boasts, voice full of bluster. “Would you believe he threw a drink in my face after? Threatened to sue me!”

 

Rhodey narrows his eyes, his sharp gaze drilling into the other surgeon, and Hammer squirms, obviously uncomfortable. 

 

“Look,” Hammer puts up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Boss lady says we gotta make nice with this guy. The dude’s rich. You play nice, you probably end up getting that grant you’ve been angling for, just saying.”

 

“What’s Pepper Potts got to do with this case?”

 

Something flickers across Hammer’s face - an odd expression, wolfish and unkind.  But it’s gone as quickly as it appears, and the other surgeon relaxes visibly, favors Rhodey with a sleazily conspiratorial look. 

 

“Personally? I think everything she has to do with it happens between the sheets, you know what I’m saying?” He laughs again, winking at Rhodey as though inviting him to join in on the fun.  “He’s not only rich, but he’s also an entitled prick, using his connections to get moved up on the transplant list.” Hammer leans in close, voice dropping down to near whisper. “You know that kid in 302? Parker? I hear Stark just got him bumped down the list so he could get his place.  That’s just between us, of course.”

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rhodey feels anger flare hot and ready in his chest. He knows that kid, of course he does.  Everybody in this goddamn hospital knows Peter. The kid’s the most precocious, sweetest, brightest 15-year-old he’s ever met, and he won’t live to celebrate his 16th birthday if he doesn’t get a heart transplant some time in the next few months.  To hear that some entitled rich prick has just made that wait even longer makes his blood boil. This guy has to be some special kind of narcissistic bastard if he’s pushing people out of the way, or sleeping around with people to get what he wants.

 

“I’ll do a consult, Hammer,” he grits out through clenched teeth. If nothing else, he can put this patient in his place, grant or no grant, he’ll show him that not everyone’s soul is for sale. “But you’re going to owe me big time.”

 

Hammer, for his part, seems completely unbothered by his fury.  More so, he appears strangely pleased by it. “Whatever you say,” he replies, wiggling his fingers in goodbye as Rhodey shoves past him on his way to the surgical suite. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

 

“Thank you, doctor,” the nurse says, her tone congratulatory, as Rhodey peels off his sterile gloves, his hands aching and tired with the tight, precise control he had them under for the past eight hours as he performed the delicate surgery. 

 

“Thank  _ you _ , Cindy.” He allows himself a moment to share a triumphant smile. Rolls his shoulders in an attempt to relax the tension pulling through his neck, shoulders, and back.  “Good work, everyone. After a week in the hospital, I think Mrs. Johnson will be going home to be with her grandkids and you helped get her there.” 

 

The surgery was a delicate one; and there was a moment when it was touch and go. In times like that, when he is well aware that someone’s life is literally in his hands to win or lose, he always imagines he can feel death’s presence, a whisper of cold and shadows no matter how brightly lit the operating room. 

 

And it’s natural for him in that moment to feel something like _ fear.  _ His fear was learned at a steep cost--a six year old that had died on his table nearly ten years ago now. He had been clear about the risks with the family, and the boy surely would have died without the surgery anyway, but Rhodey vividly recalls the moment when the small body under his hands had lost its life force, his little heart too broken to function anymore and beyond Rhodey’s skill to fix. So, unlike some of his colleagues, Rhodey never tried to teach himself to not feel fear.  Because fear was warranted. Fear was good. Fear kept him grounded, kept him aware always of the gravity, of the consequences, of the devastation that any and all missteps on his part could bring. 

 

The specter of that child always seems to visit him during difficult surgeries like this one -- a warning or, perhaps, a reminder of sorts.  He doesn’t usually examine that too closely. Today, however, it  _ does  _ bring to mind one Tony Stark, who had bumped a child down the list for his own selfish needs. The same Tony Stark still presumably waiting for his consultation.

 

From a logical standpoint, he knows he should go rest and eat before he attempts it. Hammer did say the boss wanted things nicey-nice with this guy. On the other hand, he feels his irritation is justified, and if he is angry and tired when he goes to meet the guy, it’s probably nothing less than what Stark deserves, considering what Rhodey knows about him. 

 

A small voice in the back of his head warns him that perhaps he shouldn’t be so quick to judge the man based on Justin Hammer’s say-so, that perhaps meeting Tony Stark when he is in this state of mind is not the best idea. 

 

He ignores it. Instead he finds himself growing more and more indignant, wondering who gave Tony Stark the authority to proclaim life or death on those younger and poorer than him. After the euphoria of completing a surgery to save someone’s life, it particularly rankled that this guy,  _ this guy _ just snaps his fingers, gets a heart, fires Hammer like he owns the place. That’s some kind of entitlement the guys has. Probably just because he had money he thought he should get anything he wanted or needed, and his connections to Pepper Potts (whatever form that took) was only another way he circumvented the system designed to protect people from men like him.

 

“Nurse? What room is Stark in?” He asked as he stormed onto the busy unit, indignant now.

 

The nurse raises a surprised eyebrow at the irritation that seeps into his voice.  “Room 616,” she responds cautiously, “but I think he’s sleep--”

 

“Thank you,” he cuts her off with a dismissive wave, pulling up Stark’s chart for a quick review before heading for the room and ignoring the apprehensive call of “Doctor!” aimed at his retreating back.

 

***

 

“Mr. Stark!”

 

He squashes a tiny pang of guilt he feels at the way the man in bed jolts when he shoves open the door to his room hard enough to send a loud rattle through it. Watches as a tousled head turns sluggishly in his direction, two sleepy brown eyes blinking groggily at him from a haggard face.  The guy looks sick, Rhodey has to give him that: the unhealthy tint of his skin, the sunken cheeks, the dark bags of exhaustion under his eyes. Still, doesn’t make him any less of an asshole.

 

“My name is Dr. Rhodes, Mr. Stark.  A colleague of mine, Dr. Hammer, asked me to review your case, so I wanted to stop by and chat with you, if you don’t mind.” He gives him a pointed look and Stark reaches over and turns on the light, easing to a sitting position in the bed.

 

A spark of dark amusement flashes in Stark’s eyes at the mention of the other surgeon, his lips twitching with disdain.  “And how  _ is _ the good doctor Hammer?  Has he managed to kill any patients lately?”  His voice is raspy with sleep, but his eyes look clear, focused and annoyed.

 

_ Yep,  _ Rhodey thinks, his own temper flaring with annoyance,  _ definitely an asshole. _

 

“Doctor Hammer is a renowned and respected surgeon, Mr. Stark, and you would do well to remember that,” he states, voice cold. Then adds in a quiet afterthought, just loud enough for the other to hear, “He was right to warn me about you.” 

 

''Oh, this oughta be good.'' A sharp plastic smile twists Stark's lips. ''Well, by all means, share the good doctor's diagnosis with the class. I'm dying of suspense here.''

 

''I don’t need his opinion to know that you're ungrateful and entitled,'' Rhodey spits out, picking up the clipboard with Stark's chart to give his hands something to do lest he should lose control completely. ''You physically assaulted the surgeon who saved your life and--''

 

''Hammer told you that?'' There's a steel note of warning in Stark's voice, a hard glint in his eyes.

Rhodes ignores both.

''He told me enough.”

Stark cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m sorry, I guess I’m a bit confused, Doctor… Rhodes, is it?” he says waspishly, reading Rhodey’s name tag. “Did you say this was a consult? ‘Cause I kinda get the feeling that I’m on trial here, with you being judge, jury and executioner. How exactly are you qualified? If you’re playing second fiddle to Justin Hammer then I think I’d like to demand a third opinion.  There’s gotta be at least one competent surgeon at the Shield Hospital.”

The clipboard creaks dangerously in Rhodey’s grip.

“I see. So Dr. Hammer wasn’t the first  _ or  _ the last.  You insult the skills and intelligence of  _ every _ surgeon tasked with saving your sorry life.” He takes a deep, calming breath.  Spits out, disdainful, “Seems he had you pegged right all along. And even if he hadn't warned me, the mere fact that you would push a sick kid down the donor list just so you could get your heart transplant first tells me everything I need to know about your character,  _ Mr. Stark _ .”

 

Whatever response Rhodes has been expecting, the confused, quiet murmur of ''What?'' wasn't it.  It throws him a bit, makes him wonder for a moment if there isn't something that he's missing here. 

But only for a moment.

 

''Peter Parker's 16 years old,” he hisses, the furious tremble in his voice just barely under control. “A bright kid with a bright future. Which  _ you  _ have stolen from him.'' 

A momentary flash of a memory flickers in his mind. The bright and promising smile of the six year old that had died ten years ago; that would make him about Peter’s age now. It seemed so wrong, so unfair, another life wasted and lost or at the very least put at risk. He feels the heat of anger in his chest, the dangerous flare of it.  Knows it’s time to go before he says or does something he would regret.

 

He snaps the chart closed with a bang. Tosses it carelessly at the bed, feeling only a tinge of remorse at the way Stark flinches when the clipboard hits him in the chest.

 

''I think I have all the information I need,'' he sneers, turning away from the man to head toward the door. ''There's a terminally ill organ donor at our partner hospital who's taken a turn for the worst today. I was told to expect the transplant team within the next 48-72 hours. Someone will be back to prep you for surgery then.''

He pauses, one hand already on the door handle. Turns to throw one last glance at Stark, who stares past him with an oddly lost, pensive look in his eyes.

 

''I'd say it was a pleasure to meet you,Mr. Stark, but I'm not in the habit of lying to my patients. Good day.''

…

Rhodey feels surprisingly better after his altercation with Stark; after all, if he is forced to do a surgery on someone who bumped a kid down the list, he can at least sleep easier having given the bastard a piece of his mind first. He’s a doctor. He’ll do his job and do it well. But he doesn’t have to like it.

 

He raises his eyebrows in challenge to the nurse as he walks by. There’s a pretty good chance she heard the entire conversation between him and Stark and for some unfathomable reason she appears to be unhappy with him. It doesn’t matter; Stark’s pockets are so deep, there were probably very few people he couldn’t buy or charm. Rhodey just happens to have a bit more integrity than the rest. 

 

He heads to the doctors’ lounge. There was free food, sometimes even good stuff, and he is hungry and tired. He still has to visit the clinic and do some charting. The elation he felt from telling off Stark has settled in his chest, and he stubbornly tells himself it was a good thing. Just. Without the anger he felt in the moment, he kind of, maybe, feels a bit like a jerk about it now.  Even remorseful.

 

The feeling doesn’t last. 

 

He has just finished eating and is washing his hands when he catches a glimpse in the hallway of someone that looks suspiciously like Stark, dressed in hospital issue pajama pants and a hoodie with the hood up. Cardiac ICU patients aren’t allowed to leave the unit, and if it is him, Rhodey will give him hell for it. Imagine thinking so much of yourself that you believe yourself to be above the hospital rules!

 

It takes him a moment to dry his hands and get out into the hallway, but Stark isn’t moving fast and Rhodey has no trouble tracking him, keeping close enough to follow him to see where the man is going but not so close that Stark would notice his scrutiny.

 

He slows down, nevertheless, allowing the gap between them to widen a bit, when he suddenly realizes where Stark is headed-- the Pediatric unit. And Rhodey can only think of one reason for Stark to be going that way; it has to have something to do with Parker. A horrible thought occurs to him in that moment: what if Stark plans to threaten or intimidate the boy somehow.  What if…? 

He clenches his fists, his nostrils flaring.  If that’s the case, if Stark tries to pull any crap like that, he’ll kick the guy’s out of this hospital so fast his head would spin.  He doesn’t care  _ what  _ Pepper Potts has to say about it.

 

He loses sight of Stark briefly as the man turns a corner and goes through the double doors leading to the Pediatric Unit. When Rhodes sees him again, Stark is already standing in front of the glassed in playroom, an area where non-contagious children are allowed to go and play or do craft projects to help keep them entertained while they are in the hospital. Several younger kids are in there now, playing with some Legos and stuffed animals.  Stark isn’t looking at them, however. His attention seems to be glued to a teenage boy, sitting in the corner and tuning his guitar. 

 

“Who wants to hear a song!” the teen says, and a few of the children exclaim their excitement and bring their toys over as the older boy begins to play. 

And it is only then that Rhodey notices the IV hooked to the boy’s arm. So this… this has to be Peter Parker. And Stark just stands there, watching him without the kid noticing. It’s creepy, it’s...

 

It isn’t. 

 

Stark looks...  _ eviscerated _ , is the only thing Rhodey can think of. Like someone had sliced open his chest, reached in and crushed his heart. And he can swear there are tears in the man’s eyes.  Rhodey doesn’t understand it, any of it. Confused, he moves out of Stark’s line of sight, able to see him though not hear him clearly. He’s curious despite himself, intrigued to see how this will play out.

 

A curly haired man in a white doctor’s coat approaches Stark a moment later, coming up and shaking his hand. It’s Dr. Banner.  Rhodey recognizes him easily enough, he’s met him in a few conferences, spoke to him on several occasions. The man is a pediatric cardiac specialist, doubtless the one taking care of Peter. And that’s reassuring, Rhodey thinks.  He’s heard good things about Banner, and he’s had enough interactions with him to know the man’s as good as his reputation claims him to be. He’s also known to be very protective of his patients, and Rhodey wonders if Banner is here to chase Stark out of the Pediatric wing. 

Whatever the conversation that’s taking place between them, it’s less than pleasant.  Stark looks agitated and Banner appears to be the one on the defensive.

 

Baffled, Rhodey watches as Banner puts a placating hand on Stark’s shoulder, which the latter brushes off abruptly, turning to gesture at Parker. The noise and movement have attracted some attention, however, and when Stark turns around, he locks eyes with the bright eyed teenager. Peter seems to recognize Stark, and it isn’t the starry-eyed recognition of a celebrity one sees on television or YouTube. No. There’s a warm sparkle in the kid’s eyes that screams familiarity, and Rhodey feels his confusion deepen. 

Peter waves happily in greeting, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree, and Stark gives him a weak, forced smile in return, waving and giving him a thumbs up to continue his concert. Peter nods and turns back to the kids, flicking his gaze occasionally back to Stark.

 

Banner says something again, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. Rhodey can’t make out what it is, but he thinks he hears Pepper mentioned. Stark opens his mouth as if to argue, then suddenly hunches over, as if in pain, his right hand clasped around his chest. Banner steps in closer, his hand gripping the man’s shoulder again.  Leans down, concerned. Stark shakes his head as if to dismiss the concern, but interrupts the motion half-way, grips Banner’s arm instead with his free hand, holding on tight.

 

Banner, looking positively alarmed now, waves over an orderly.  But Stark pushes away from him at that moment, straightens out with visible effort, gesturing the orderly away. Rhodey can see Bruce making an urgent argument.

“I refuse,” Stark grits out loudly enough for Rhodey to hear. “You can’t make me.”

Rhodey has had enough. 

He pushes himself up to stand, walks over to the two men. “Dr. Banner,” he says in greeting. “Mr. Stark. I’d sure like to know what you’re doing out of your room.” Up close he can’t help but assess his patient’s state and he doesn’t like what he sees. The man is paler than ever, sweat dotting his upper lip and forehead from even the brief walk over.

 

“Would you?” Stark’s voice is dangerously low, anger etched in his face and fire in his eyes. “Your concern is duly noted,  _ Doctor. _ But as I recall your services won’t be required for 48-72 hours, so in the meantime feel free to go to hell.”

 

Offended, Rhodey draws back, his own temper flaring. 

 

Banner looks between them anxiously, one hand nervously pushing the glasses higher up on his nose. “Tony--”

 

“Save it,” Stark snaps, interrupting whatever it was that Banner was trying to say. “You’re lucky I don’t have every dime of funding for this place withdrawn. You should have told me. I  _ trusted  _ you.” 

 

“Tony, it wasn’t like that--”

 

“Are you honestly threatening a pediatrician by saying you’re going to take away funding for his patients?” Rhodey interrupts, incredulous. “You’re... unbelievable!”

 

“You should talk with Hammer some more,” Stark spits out, his eyes almost black against the alarming pallor of his face, “he’ll tell you so many unbelievable things about me, you’ll be able to write a fucking book. Might even get you published.”  The pale lips twist in an ugly sneer, Stark pushing closer to the two men. “And since we’re getting along so swimmingly, Dr. Rhodes, you’re officially  _ fired _ . Now there’s a decision we can all be happy with.” 

 

Too surprised to speak or stop him, Rhodey just watches, stunned, as Stark stalks away, fury coloring his every step. Banner makes a move to go after him, then sighs, frustrated, as his beeper goes off.

 

“What the hell was that about?” Rhodey demands when he can finally find his tongue again.

 

“I’d love to tell you all about it but there’s an emergency.”  Banner sounds anxious, and somehow Rhodey doesn’t think that unease has much to do with the emergency at hand.  “Listen, Dr. Rhodes, Tony Stark is a good man, one the world needs.”

 

“Needs his money you mean,” Rhodey can’t help the disdain that slips into his voice.

 

“No.” Banner blinks at him, his brown eyes inexplicably disappointed and... sad. “I don’t mean that. I mean we need Tony. And I’m afraid if you don’t find a way to save him, no one will.”

 

Rhodey shrugs.  “Well he just fired my ass, so....”  The thought bothers him for some reason, even though he doesn’t like to admit it.

  
Banner nods, grim.  Turns away, already starting in the direction of the OR.  Calls over his shoulder before his steps turn into a hurried jog, “You might think about trying to get yourself  _ unfired,  _ Doctor. If you’ve been listening to anything Justin Hammer has been saying about him… let’s just say you might want to get a second opinion.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

“Dr. Rhodes?”

A young voice, quiet and unsure, pulls his attention away from Stark’s retreating back, stopping short his intention to follow after the man.

He turns, frowning slightly at the skinny, curly-haired teen that stands behind him, fiddling nervously with the line of his IV pole.

“I’m… I’m… I’m Peter.  Peter Parker.”

Rhodey feels his lips twitch into a smile despite his unpleasant mood.  “Ah, yes, Mr. Parker. I had the pleasure of listening to you play just now.” He nods toward the room the teen has recently vacated. “Very impressive.” And it had been, the bit he’d heard.

His grin widens as the teen ducks his head at the praise, the tips of his ears flushing pink.   _ Adorable _ , Rhodey thinks, amused, and feels the uncomfortable sting of anger at the idea of Tony Stark doing anything that might put the kid in harm’s way. “What can I do for you?”

“I...uh….” Peter starts fidgeting with the IV pole again; throws a hesitant glance at Rhodey’s face.  “I heard your argument with Mr. Stark just now and…”

“I see.” His mood sours instantly; Tony Stark is the last thing he wants to talk about with this kid. He frowns, waiting for the boy to continue with whatever was on his mind.

“You need to get him to hire you back!”

The unexpected nature of the request and the heat of the conviction behind it bring him up short.

“What?” 

“I… I mean….” Peter takes a step back, flustered, his gaze dropping back down to the floor.  “Mr. Stark, he’s… he’s a really good guy. He… he takes care of everyone around him, but he doesn’t really… he doesn’t let others take care of him.” The kid looks up again, brown eyes intent. “And he needs to,” he insists heatedly.  “Especially now. His heart-”

“You’re defending him…” Rhodey can’t quite hide the incredulity coloring his voice.  “Even after what he’s done to you. Taking your place in line?” he adds at the puzzled expression on Peter’s face.

The teen’s expression darkens, his large brown eyes hardening in clear disapproval. “That was  _ my _ decision,” he says mulishly.  “Mine and my aunt’s.  _ We _ came to Ms. Potts when we found out from Tony that things were getting worse. We made her agree not to tell him, as a matter of patient confidentiality. He was never supposed to find out about it.”

“Is that so?” Somehow Rhodey had assumed that Peter and his aunt had been kept in the dark. The fact the kid knew about it almost made it worse. “And why is that?”

“Because he never would have allowed it if he knew.” Peter shakes his head, heaving out a dejected sigh before he plops tiredly onto the nearby bench. “I just wanted to help him. I wanted… and now, because it’s me, because he  _ knows  _ it’s me, he won’t…” The teen trails off, eyes momentarily squeezed shut; wraps his fingers around the IV pole in a white-knuckled grip.  When he looks up again, the desperate intensity of his stare nearly forces Rhodey to take a step back. 

“I wouldn’t even  _ have  _ a place in line if it weren’t for Mr. Stark. He is the reason I have a chance to live, Dr. Rhodes! And I… I can’t be the reason he loses his!”

And that right there? Definitely not what Rhodey was expecting to hear.  He frowns down at the earnest, wide-eyed gaze that meets his; bites his lip at the guilt-tinged despair he sees there.  

“Alright, kid.” He knows he’s already given in; doubts there’s anyone alive out there who can stay strong in the face of these imploring puppy eyes.  He just really hopes he doesn’t come to regret this later. “There’s a couple things I need to get straight, and I think you’re the one to help me.”

“What do you mean?”

“How about you tell me all about Tony Stark over a cup of hot cocoa, huh? Start with why you think you owe him your place on the organ recipient list.”

Peter watches him silently for a few moments, his expression wary. Nods, his curls flopping over his forehead. “Okay.”

***

They settle on a bench outside some ten minutes later, Peter cradling a cup of chocolate ice cream he opted for instead of hot cocoa. It’s nice and quiet out here, the air pleasant, tinged with a mild spring morning chill, and Rhodey finds himself relaxing just a bit, letting go of the angry tension he’d been carrying around since daybreak. 

“Thanks Dr. Rhodes,” Peter speaks up beside him, poking hesitantly at the mound of chocolate in his cup. “Dr. Banner told me to try and beef up my calorie intake since I can’t eat much.”

“Well, I hope you enjoy it,” Rhodey responds, smiling encouragingly as the teen scoops up his first spoonful.  Urges mildly, “Whenever you’re ready, Peter.” He doesn’t want to push the boy, but time isn’t exactly a luxury he has to waste.

Peter’s expression darkens, the second spoonful dropped half-heartedly back into the cup.   “I’m… I’m not supposed to tell anyone about this. I could get in big trouble, but even worse Mr. Stark could get in big trouble. I had to sign some huge non-disclosure agreements, there were lawyers there and everything, it was  _ crazy.  _ If anyone ever found out I told you, then they could sue Mr. Stark and he could even go to jail.” He shoots Rhodey a slightly anxious, pleading look. “So… you… you won’t tell anyone, right Dr. Rhodes?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Rhodey agrees, his curiosity piqued.

“No, no, I need-- you have to understand.  _ No one _ can know.”

“Peter. I promise. On my word as a doctor, doctor-patient confidentiality, do no harm, Hippocratic oath. I won’t tell anyone.”

This seems finally enough to reassure Peter and he leans forward, a frown of worry on his face that speaks of a lot of fear and anxiety… more than he would expect for one so young. “Okay, well. It all happened about two years ago. The hospital was losing money, all the political stuff going on right? So they hired a consulting company to come and make it profitable again. You have to understand, there were talks of closing the doors.”

“Right,” Rhodey nods his understanding. He’s not surprised, even given the hospital’s reputation for excellent care; healthcare in general was facing a major crisis and there were systems all over the world taking the same kind of steps in order to keep their doors open. 

“So the first thing they do is fire all the administrative people here,” Peter goes on, ice cream forgotten. “Let them go with severance only. I remember it a little bit because the nurses and doctors were in a huge uproar about it, it wasn’t pretty.”

“I’ll bet!”

“Well yeah. So they hire this new guy, Thaddeus Ross.” 

Somehow Rhodey thinks the shudder that goes through Peter at the mention of that name has little to do with the morning chill. 

“Ross… Yeah, I’ve heard of him. He did some great things for that hospital system in Orlando.” 

Peter scoffs. “Wherever you heard about that, I’ll bet it didn’t mention a body count,” he counters darkly.

“No… it didn’t as a matter of fact.”

“Well, I can practically  _ guarantee _ you that there was one. Because Ross doesn’t come in and fix things, he comes in and he cuts corners. First thing he did after firing the administrators was fire all the experienced nurses and techs. Forced some of the higher paid doctors into early retirement -- claimed their judgement would be called into question and their malpractice insurance would go up, that kind of thing.”

“Peter,” Rhodey cuts in, trying, rather unsuccessfully, to keep the skepticism from his voice, “even if that were true, how could you possibly know about it?”

“Because I’m one of the schmucks that almost got killed!” 

“Oh…” He pulls back, stunned silent by the teen’s outburst.  Motions for him to continue.

Peter nods grudgingly, huddles in on himself.  “I was born with hypoplastic left heart syndrome and had, like, three surgeries when I was a baby and all that. I was doing good, real good, until a year ago I got bit by a spider. So like, not normally a big deal, but for me it  _ was _ . I got super sick. But Dr. Banner… he’s my cardiologist, right? He found a treatment, and it seemed like a miracle because there was nothing anyone else could do. I mean… it _ was _ a miracle. Only the drug I was on was crazy expensive, like $20,000 a dose.”

Rhodey lets out a low whistle and Peter huffs angrily in response. 

“I have to take it every three months for three years,” he says, nodding toward his IV bag. “Obviously, there was no way for us to afford it. Our insurance wouldn’t cover it because it’s technically not even approved by the FDA. So the hospital was writing it off. You know. They were using it as a charitable donation, which means it technically doesn’t cost them anything because they get the money back in tax credits and government payouts. Only...” Peter falters, a muscle in his jaw twitching.  “Only they weren’t making money off it.” He gives a vicious stab at his now mostly-melted ice cream before hurling the cup into the garbage can with a bit more energy than was strictly necessary. 

“Right.” Rhodey can already see where this is heading, and he feels his own fingers itch with the urge to curl into fists. Money. Of course. Of-fucking course! Everything always comes back to money. It was one of the reasons why he’d gone into medicine, to  _ do something _ about this kind of thing, to do surgery for the right reasons and not to make a buck.

“Yeah! Right!!” The teen slaps his hand palm down on the bench, agitated. “I mean, can you believe I had the  _ audacity _ to exist and want to live and not have a disease that the hospital could  _ benefit _ from? Ross came through and he eliminated most of those programs. The ones that helped people.”

“Why don’t people know about it?” Rhodey interjects. “Why wasn’t any of this on the news?”

“Oh it was.” The sharp bitterness in the teen’s voice surprises Rhodey. For as broken, small, and sick as the kid appeared, he had clearly developed quite the backbone.  “The headlines were ‘Local CEO Turns Failing Local Hospital into Model of Health Care Efficiency.’ He’s a jerk but he’s not an idiot! Dr. Banner did what he could but they were threatening his license. There were a couple of assault charges thrown around when Dr. Banner got really mad during a meeting and punched the guy. Satisfying, right? Except now he was suspended and I was getting sicker and sicker because no medicine. And this is the only pediatric cardiac hospital in three states that’s able to deal with my problems. We were looking at moving to Colorado but I was too sick and May, my aunt, had been out of work to take care of me so no money. I was…” 

There’s a suspicious hitch in the teen’s voice, his breath coming a little harsh, a little fast. He shakes his head viciously, swipes irritably at his cheeks where thin trails of tears cut a path across anger-flushed skin. 

“I was so tired,” he admits in a whisper, “I wished I could just die and get it over with!” 

“Okay,” Rhodey exhales past the stunned horror of the teen’s admission, “okay.” Reaches out haltingly to put a soothing a hand on the kid’s trembling shoulder. “Do you… uh… do you need a break from this?”

“No.” It takes him a few moments, but Peter swallows down his emotions; manages to steady himself. “Sorry. It was just… it was hard. I hated it. I was sick and things were getting so much worse. It was hard to see these things taking their toll on May.”

Rhodey gives the boy’s shoulder one last squeeze before letting his hand fall away.  “I imagine she must have been pretty upset.”

“Upset doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Peter scoffs.  “She was furious. And she wasn’t taking it sitting down either. She was calling our legislators, trying to see about the legalities, but we weren’t having any luck. She tried to go after him directly, you know, suing him for medical malpractice. Failure to treat. Medical neglect.” He shrugs, exhaustion written into every line of his body.  

“Like I said, it got ugly.  And here I am… dying because my heart is failing, and I get sick on top of it and it’s looking like the end for me. They start talking about hospice and making me comfortable, but I’m in the ICU in the meantime…”

“What happened?” Rhodey prods cautiously, afraid to push too hard because the kid is a walking war wound and it feels like even the slightest amount of pressure could cause him to bleed out.

Peter blinks as though coming out of a trance, his expression softening, pale lips pulling into a small smile. “Tony Stark happened,” he murmurs, sounding simultaneously awed and fond. “He got admitted the same time as me, just on the adult side, and he was being monitored because he was on some weird drug that was giving him trouble, but he was not so sick as me. He bumped into May in the hallway one time, and they got to know each other a bit. They had a lot in common, you know? Going through all this. Tony, see, he wanted to help, he offered to pay for everything. And May, she was real thankful and she wanted to take him up on it, but the thing is? Ross could just turn around and do it again to some other kid and their family. May said if it happened again it was because of them not fighting so she wanted to keep pushing on.”

Rhodey shakes his head, a bit conflicted. On the one hand there’s an already familiar flare of annoyance at Tony Stark, whose answer to everything seems to be to throw money at it.  Yet on the other - it was a hell of a thing for him to offer to do for someone he had just met. 

He also can’t help but admire May Parker’s bravery and tenacity. To go up against the hospital with all of its money and its fancy lawyers all on her own? That took guts.

“One night, Ross himself comes by and says he has a court order to withdraw treatment on my case.”

Lost in thought, it takes Rhodey a moment to realize that the kid is talking again, and once the actual meaning of the words registers, he feels himself grow cold all over. “What??”

“Yeah.” Peter swallows hard several times, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “See… what he’s done is… he’s accused May of child abuse. For doing all these expensive treatments and prolonging my life. He got all these doctors to say that it wasn’t in my best interest, it was causing pain and suffering. He had all these records that showed it was harming me and wouldn’t save my life in the end and he said a third party should be asked to make medical decisions on my behalf. Basically, Ross made it so the government had medical decision-making power over my course of treatment.”

Rhodey sits back, stunned silent once again. He knows there are certain laws for that kind of thing, but they are meant to protect kids from abusive parents, who use medical diagnosis to harm their kids-- Munchausen by Proxy, that kind of thing. He can’t believe anyone would do what Peter’s describing.  It’s… it’s... unconscionable!

“Ross and May get into a big fight, and May… she’s in tears, alright? I hadn’t seen her like that since my uncle died. She starts pleading with him.  Promises to back down if Ross doesn’t withdraw treatment. Says she’ll stop the lawsuits  _ and _ the push to get the laws changed - drop the whole thing just… just to keep me going.” Peter grits his teeth, his breath hitching once again.  “Ross was in my room, see,” he continues, voice tight with barely controlled emotions. “He didn’t want anyone witnessing what he was doing, and he’s right in her face, laughing at her tears. And I’m… I’m just lying there like a rag doll,  _ useless _ !”  

Peter’s face screws up as if in pain, eyes squeezing shut, and Rhodey can’t help reaching for the teen once more; lays a gentle hand on his back.  Peter nods in mute thanks; breathes, slow and deep, in an attempt to calm down, in and out, in and out.

“And then Mr. Stark walks into the room, out of  _ nowhere, _ ” he continues, hoarse, “with like three lawyers in tow. I don’t know who called him or how he got there so fast, I don’t know any of that. He’s just there, looking like a king even in a hospital gown, you know? The lawyers, they’re talking fast, serving Ross with all kinds of notices and cease and desist orders, and there’s even…” 

Peter’s voice chokes up a little, and he fists his hands around the edge of the bench, white-knuckled fingers digging in. 

“There’s even a restraining order, so he has to leave us alone. He can’t say anything to May or me, not ever again. And he never… he never does. Ross never has talked to us again.  And I start getting my medicine. Because of how sick I got without the medicine, I was moved way up on the list, but then thanks to Mr. Stark, I’m okay now. I’m good to wait. It’s actually good for me to wait, to get stronger, let this medicine heal my body.” 

He turns, his gaze boring into Rhodey, intent, pleading.  “But Mr. Stark, he… Dr. Rhodes, he can’t wait anymore. He passes the rope again, he, maybe, won’t be around when a chance comes back up again. That’s why… that’s why we went to Ms. Potts about giving him  _ my _ spot.”

Rhodey nods grimly, digesting that information.  “What about Dr. Hammer?” he wants to know. “He did the surgery on Mr. Stark, didn’t he? How did that--” 

He trails off, taken aback by the abrupt shift in the teen’s expression.  Peter’s whole face darkens, lips twisting into an ugly, bitter grimace.

“Hammer’s a hack,” he spits out with such venom that it leaves Rhodey gaping at him in frank surprise.  “He botched that surgery. On purpose probably, too, I’m willing to bet!”

“Come on, Peter…” Rhodey shakes his head in disbelief, because an accusation like that? It’s utterly ridiculous!

“Ross threatened Mr. Stark, did I tell you that?” the teen cuts in as though Rhodey hasn’t spoken.  “When they were arguing in my room, when Mr. Stark told him to get out? Just before he left, he pinned Mr. Stark against the wall and he told him, told him Mr. Stark would regret doing this.  And you know what the last thing he did before leaving the hospital for good?”

“He assigned Dr. Hammer to do the surgery,” Rhodey guesses, feeling a horrible numbness spread forth within his chest. “But… why?”

“Hammer’s a butcher,” Peter sneers, voice dark with resentment, “everyone knows that.  He only ever got to be a surgeon thanks to his daddy’s money and Ross’s influence. He never should have… he never should have gone anywhere  _ near  _ Mr. Stark.” 

“He… I heard the nurses talk after. Hammer ignored the warning on Mr. Stark’s chart; gave him a drug that should never have been combined with the medicine Mr. Stark was taking.  Nearly killed him right on the operating table. It’s what… it’s what’s killing him now!” 

The teen grits his teeth; drops his gaze to where his hands are clasped impossibly tight in his lap.  “I visited him the day after his surgery. He looked… he… I’ve never seen him look so bad. Like… like death.  And he was in pain. He was trying to hide it, but I could tell.” He looks up again, his face twisting in anguish.  “He’s dying, Dr. Rhodes. And there’s no one who can help him but you. Miss Potts, she told me, she said you’re the best in the field.  That’s why I told her to take my spot, so you could… so you could save him. And then I hear he fired you, Dr. Rhodes, and I don’t… I don’t know what to do.”

He looks at Rhodey with such raw, open worry that Rhodey wonders if he’s ever felt worse in his entire life, as if he’d kicked a puppy or pulled the wings off a butterfly. Killed a mockingbird, all that. Guilt and shame spread through his chest with hot prickles, as well as a burgeoning fear that he’d done something irrevocably foolish. He’d just thrown away the one chance he had to save someone… someone who is, despite what he’s been initially led to believe, utterly worth saving. 

At the same time, he’s not sure how much he can rely on the opinion of a child, much less one so obviously emotionally compromised. There’s a chance that Stark had manipulated him, he hates to think it but it is a fact. People do… desperate things when they are desperate.

But Peter seems so damned earnest.

“Peter. I… I didn’t know any of that,” he manages finally -- as close to  _ “I’m sorry”  _ as he can get. 

Peter nods gravely, brown eyes boring into Rhodey’s, dark, urgent. “I know, sir. I know. But… the thing is. Now you do. So what are you going to do about it?”

 

***

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop, he really doesn’t.  He went looking for Pepper after he dropped the Parker kid back in his room, and he will honestly blame his conversation with the teen - the conversation that left him so thoroughly shaken and off his game that he doesn’t become aware of his surroundings until he nearly collides with a group of interns that huddle in an oddly conspiratorial-looking clique in the middle of the hallway in front of Pepper’s office. It is only then that he snaps back to the here and now.  It is only then that he becomes aware of the raised voices coming from behind the closed office door, and of the awkward glances the interns are throwing each other as they wait for Rhodey’s reaction.

“I refuse to allow it, Tony!” Pepper’s voice rages from behind closed doors, and Rhodey can see through the haphazardly open blinds as she paces angrily in her spacious office.  “I can have you blue slipped!”

“A psychiatric hold, really?” Stark sounds peeved, his temper from earlier having escalated even further. “Don’t think I won’t sue you if you pull that crap, Potts! My lawyers are faster and smarter than your corporate lackeys. I’m not your hostage or your science experiment and you agreed,  _ you agreed _ ! I say when I’m done. And I’m  _ done _ !”

“Well I take it back! You can’t do this! I won’t let you!” 

Pepper is shouting now, her voice - a heart-rending mix of anger and despair, and Rhodey doesn’t even have to pretend not to overhear them now.  _ Everyone  _ in the vicinity can hear their argument, and the interns once again begin talking in low voices to each other, flicking awkward glances in the direction of the office. 

Rhodey has had enough.  Calling on his most authoritative tone, he shoos the interns back to work.  Waits a few beats as he watches them disperse, chastised, and then marches determinedly toward the office, trying his best to ignore the angry rise of Stark’s voice.

His ears register an abrupt, almost choked-off cessation of Stark’s response just as his fingers curl around the door handle, followed by a clatter of office supplies being knocked off the desk and a heavy thud of a body hitting the ground. Alarmed now, he yanks open the door and freezes, just out of their line of sight, struck momentarily dumb by the scene that opens before him. 

Stark sits on the floor, slumped gracelessly against the desk, his legs splayed out before him. His eyes are closed, ashen face pinched in pain, his trembling left hand tugging unsuccessfully at something inside the pocket of his pajama pants.  

Pepper is kneeling before him, wide-eyed and almost as alarmingly pale as Stark himself, one hand resting on his rapidly heaving chest, the other gently pushing Stark’s hand out of the way to take out what the former has been so desperately trying to reach.

A bottle of pills.

_ Odd _ , Rhodey thinks, squinting as he tries to make out the label.  Because he doesn’t remember seeing any mention of any specific pills in Stark’s chart.  And yet...

“How many of these did you take? Tony? How many?” The undeniable urgency in Pepper’s voice cuts off his train of thought, and Rhodey notes the undisguised worry on his boss’s face.

“Three,” Stark huffs out, barely audible, eyes still stubbornly closed.

Pepper pulls back, lips pressed together into a thin white line, the bottle clasped tight within her trembling fingers. 

“ You know that's not safe,” she says finally, sounding like she’s pleading with Stark.  “You know they're just supposed to give you  _ time _ . They’re not a cure! Tony, these _ damage your heart _ if you take them too often, you  _ know  _ this! You know--”

“Yeah,” he cuts her off abruptly, pain-glazed brown eyes sliding open to stare back at her with tired defiance. “Yeah, I do know Pepper. I’m the one who helped develop the damn things. Mixing Palladium and Epinephrine, not in the usual bag of tricks. So yeah. I know.”  He nods weakly to the bottle almost completely hidden within her crushing grip. “I need one now, though. Please.”

She watches him a heartbeat longer; sucks in a quick, shuddered breath.  “Okay,” she concedes finally, carefully jiggling one out into her hand. “Okay, Tony, you win.” 

Dejectedly she hands the pill over to him; stretches to get a bottle of water from her desk, while he pops the pill into his mouth.  Reaches out to support him as he drinks, washing down the pill. It takes another few minutes before he nods to her, shifting as though to get up, and she helps pull him to standing, careful, anxious, her hands lingering on his shoulder, as if unable or unwilling to let go.

“Please, Tony, please promise me you won’t take any more of these today,” she pleads, and there’s an uncharacteristically vulnerable note in her voice, one Rhodey has never heard before. “Just… just give me some  _ time _ , I’ll sort this out somehow--”

Stark smiles in response, weary and almost apologetic.  Leans in to place a soft kiss on her cheek. 

“Okay. Time. Sure,” he agrees placatingly. “All I got is time, Pep, you can take all of it you need to.” 

The words sound wrong somehow, coming out of his mouth, like their meaning is different, like Stark is saying goodbye. And Pepper must sense the same thing, for Rhodey sees her open her mouth in protest…

Stark shakes his head, presses a gentle finger against her lips, silencing her.  “We both knew it was a long shot, Pep. Part of the journey is the end, all that; I've been on borrowed time, I'm not about to borrow any of Peter's. We knew this doctor was a hail mary and it didn't work out. Let me leave, Pep. Okay? Just for a little bit.  I'll see you soon.”

Rhodey doesn’t stay to hear her response.  Steps back outside, letting the door close softly behind him.  Mere moments later the door creaks open again, and Stark walks out, shuffling slowly toward the elevators.  Rhodey watches him go, wondering briefly if he should go after him and stop him. But there are things about him he still feels he needs to know, needs to understand.  So after a moment of hesitation he turns on his heel and pushes his way back into Pepper’s office before he can change his mind once more.

***

He finds Pepper seated back at her desk, face buried in her hands, shoulders trembling ever so slightly.  It’s an uncomfortable sight, to be sure, and he has half a mind to tuck tail and run, but she raises her head just then, a pair of tear-filled blue eyes pinning him firmly in place. 

“Dr. Rhodes.” She straightens out, a professional mask slamming back into place.  “What can I do for you?”

And he flinches despite himself.  Because this is  _ Pepper _ .  He’s known her for years, been a close colleague of hers for years.  And he has been “Jim” or “Rhodey” to her for nearly as long. But the look in her eyes now is cold as ice - the same look he’s seen her level at those who dared cross her, and he finds it frankly terrifying to be on the receiving end of it.

Though, to be fair, he supposes he deserves it.

“I… I formed an opinion about a man based on the word of someone I don’t respect as a surgeon and barely tolerate as a human being,” he begins carefully, stepping closer to her desk, gauging her reaction.  “What I have seen until recently seemed to have confirmed that opinion for me. And yet…”

“And yet?” Pepper prods, blue eyes narrowing in silent warning.

“I can’t help feeling that I’ve missed something,” he admits.  “A couple people pointed out to me that maybe I was wrong in my initial assessment.  That… that I should get a second opinion.”

He takes a deep breath, trying his best not to fidget under her steely glare.  Squares his jaw in quiet resolution. 

“So this is me,” he finishes softly, spreading his arms out to the sides, “asking for that second opinion.”


End file.
